The Harder You Fall
“I should be so lucky.” Beck drained half the glass without reacting to the bitter taste. “It’s a nice ass.”
“Your modesty humbles me.” West was fast and agile, so he played center forward, stealing the ball—his ball—whenever it needed stealing. And it was his ball. Always. When he stepped onto the field, a sense of possession overtook him. Mine. Which was probably why he ended up the top scorer of every game.
That, and his skill, tenacity and strength. He spent a good portion of every day in the gym. He would never be weak again. He despised helplessness almost as much as he despised chaos.
“My modesty is just one of the many amazing things about me.” Beck finished off the rest of the shake. “Good stuff. Thanks.”
West glanced at his wristwatch. 9:28 a.m. All right. “Time to go.”
He grabbed the duffel containing a change of clothes and climbed behind the wheel of his Mercedes. Jase had called eternal dibs on the front passenger seat, so he claimed his prize and Beck settled in back, all without protest or complaint. The two respected West and his schedules.
My soul mates.
He drove through the town square, where different families meandered along the sidewalks. Everyone was bundled up for warmth, and everyone paused to smile and wave as he passed.
To West, it was a scene straight of out a movie, too picture-perfect to be real, but he smiled and waved right back.
“Who we playing today?” Jase asked as they crawled along the highway. Ice had been sanded and salted, but there were still slick spots. At this rate, they’d reach the downtown Oklahoma City arena in fifty years.
“The Ball Busters.”
“Last year’s league champions.” Beck grinned, the baring of teeth a little evil. “That’ll make our win today a thousand times sweeter.”
“Exactly. Show no mercy.” West adjusted the air vents, ensuring blasts of heat reached the backseat. “After we wipe the field with their faces, they’ll be knocked out of this year’s play-offs.”
“Trash talk already.” Jase nodded his approval. “I raised you boys right.” A beep from his phone. He checked the screen and cursed.
“What?” West and Beck demanded in unison.
Jase rubbed the back of his neck. “Brook Lynn will be late to the game.”
Such an extreme reaction over so little? As if the guy couldn’t go half a day without seeing his girl?
If West ever dated Jessie Kay—
Are you kidding me? Could he not go one day, one hour, without thinking about her? Without hating her and craving her, practically foaming-at-the-mouth eager to get his hands on her. To shake her and learn her... And anything else that came to mind.
“Jase, my man, I love you. I really do.” West turned on his blinker before changing lanes. “But codependency is an ugly bitch.”
Beck reached out to pat Jase on the shoulder. “What he said is true, but it doesn’t matter. Bitches adore us.”
Very true. Young, old, single or married, females simply couldn’t get enough, bad boys like Beck and Jase their kryptonite. West attracted his fair share of attention, but never in droves. The multitude must suspect he wasn’t just a bad boy; he was damaged beyond repair.
When he reached the arena, he parked in back, grabbed his duffel and beat feet inside, the frigid air like needles against his skin, smelling of car exhaust and burning wood rather than wild strawberries, a scent that somehow pervaded Strawberry Valley even in winter. A scent that had somehow come to represent home.
When Jase had voiced a desire for a fresh start in a small town with wide-open spaces and the sense of community he’d never gotten in foster care, West had panicked. Leave his penthouse apartment? His routine? Never! Except at the behest of his friends. Then he’d do both in an instant. He owed Jase and Beck his life, and by all that was holy, he would pay his debt.
Always better to be the lender rather than the borrower.
At first, he’d hated Strawberry Valley. Residents considered his personal life a reasonable topic of conversation, and his bank balance open to public scrutiny. And yet, those same residents had had Jase’s back at a time when anyone else would have chased him off with pitchforks and torches.
Now there was nowhere else West would rather live.
A few feet past the door, he drew up short, feeling as if he’d just been punched in the chest.
No. Please, no.
Jessie Kay was here.
She and Harlow stood in line at the concession stand, completely unaware of the crowd of drooling men staring at them, some of those men basically pawing at the ground like bulls about to charge.
Little wonder. Harlow had hair so black it gleamed blue and eyes the color of a morning sky. She was a Disney princess come to life. And considering her love of romance novels, the description couldn’t have been more perfect. Meanwhile, Jessie Kay was the villain of the tale. The merciless evil queen so beautiful, so utterly flawless, her every movement and word so touched with black magic, she entranced everyone around her.
It wasn’t just the skin that looked as soft as silk, or the waterfall of pale hair that begged for a man’s hands, or the eyes so deep and blue you drowned a thousand times with only a glance. It wasn’t even the lush, red lips made for sucking—and being sucked. It was the essence of her: pure, luscious seduction.
Her hands danced through the air as she spoke to Harlow, her chest heaving. A succulent chest covered by a too-tight T-shirt that read “Goal Scout Deliveries Free Today Only.” Her jeans appeared painted on, and the cowgirl boots she wore had enough rhinestones to outshine the sun.
She stole his breath.
Jase came up beside him and hammered his shoulder with enough strength to crush an ordinary man. “Now you know. Brook Lynn sent Jessie Kay in her place. I’d hoped we’d beat her here, and you’d never know she’d come. Sorry.”
Well. The guy’s he-fit after reading Brook Lynn’s text suddenly made more sense.
Beck stalked past them, an arrow with a target. As always, he devolved into an intense, possessive manimal whenever his fianceé was near, casting a warning glare at every man in her vicinity, all mine, I’ll kill before I’ll share.
Harlow squealed, happy to see him. Jessie Kay stiffened and slooowly turned toward the door, as if she needed a moment to prepare herself for a coming blow. Her gaze linked with West’s and...just like that, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Desire burned through him, even vibrated in his bones. The air between them thickened, suddenly supercharged with enough electricity to bring down a rhino. Breathing was far more difficult—when the ability at last returned.
How did she do this to him? How did she ensnare him so easily? And with only a look?
A drug. She’s a drug.
She had to be. Only cocaine had the same effect on him.
At the moment, he didn’t exactly care what she was. Devolving...
Mine. Want.
A group of people spilled through the entrance, and someone knocked into him. As West stumbled, managing to catch himself before a fall, the...whatever he had going with Jessie Kay ended, broken abruptly.
Anger replaced his fascination, and he growled a curse at the person responsible. A curse he then turned on himself.
“Sorry, sorry,” the guy called as he continued forward.
West returned his attention to Jessie Kay, unable to stop himself, hating himself, but she’d reached the front of the line and now worked her black magic on the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter.
Grinding his molars, West strode to the locker room to store his bag.
“—see the blonde?” some guy was saying. The guy who’d plowed into him, in fact. Without a coat to block the view, West was able to see the black-and-crimson shirt proudly boasting “Ball Buster” on back.
“The one in the cowboy boots? Dude. How could I miss her?” another member of BBs responded. “Those tits were spectacular.”
A command to move never registered, but suddenly West was across the room, the guy’s neck in his hand. He seethed with fury and aggression, his words lashing like a whip. “You’re an asshole.” He slammed the guy into the bank of lockers. “You don’t talk about her like that. Ever.”
Hazel eyes bugged out and air wheezed from a throat close to closing up shop.
“He’s sorry, man. We’re sorry,” the friend rushed out. “We didn’t know she was yours. Let him go, okay?”
“Let him go,” Jase echoed, now at West’s side. “Ending the life of a fool isn’t on your schedule.”
He was panting, West realized, as if he’d just run a ball up and down the field for several hours. Any second, he would snap, and there would be no stopping him until it was too late.
Can’t let that happen. Not around Jase.
West gave a final squeeze before unlocking his fingers and stepping back. The offenders raced out the door, practically leaving skid marks in their wake. Predatory instincts surfaced, the urge to give chase almost too strong to ignore.
“I know you want Jessie Kay,” Jase said softly. “I know you wish you didn’t. You need to go out with her or forget her, because you can’t go on like this. I see that now.”
He saw it, too, but he couldn’t go out with her and there was no way he could forget her.
Still he said, “I’ll clean up, dry out.” Recovery terms. One hundred percent accurate in this case. “You have my word.”
This behavior wasn’t good for him, and it certainly wasn’t like him. He was the one who thought everything through, who planned the beginning from the end before ever acting. But it was her, Jessie Kay; she was to blame for his uncustomary outburst. Months of looking at her, sparring with her and fantasizing about her without ever actually touching her had finally destroyed the calm outer shell he’d cultivated while living with his mom.
He remembered the day he’d learned it was better to hide his emotions than share them. He’d made the egregious mistake of telling his mom about Sam, and she’d cried for days, shooting up more than usual until finally overdosing. At five years old, he’d tried to give her CPR. He’d seen people on TV do it—the wrong way, it turned out. When he’d failed to revive her, he’d banged on his neighbor’s door, begging for help.
He’d helped all right. By calling 911 and social services. West was taken away for the very first time.
“We can’t afford trouble with the law,” Jase reminded him. “Especially this kind of trouble.”
“I know. Don’t worry about me. Seriously.” West’s hands curled into fists. “I’m just jacked on adrenaline because of the game.”
Disbelief shadowed Jase’s features, but he said, “Maybe you should take a breather and sit out the first half.”
“I’d rather eat nails. The field is the only place I can legally kick ass.”
“Just make sure the asses you kick don’t have to be carried away on stretchers.”
Those tits were spectacular.
West laughed without humor. “I can’t make any promises.”
CHAPTER THREE
JESSIE KAY SAT in the bleachers, embarrassingly awed. West was a warrior of old and the arena was his battlefield, his body his weapon. And what a weapon it was.
He owned the ball. When someone else had it, he took it. When he had it and someone tried to steal it, he knocked that someone into a wall with a full-on slam. He threw insults, elbows and knees like they were confetti.
Tomorrow, the members of Team Ball Buster would feel as if they’d tangled with an F5 tornado and lost, guaran-dang-teed.
It—was—hawt. West was hawt.
Jessie Kay’s gaze remained glued to him. Sweat glistened on his bronzed skin, and blood trickled from several cuts he’d sustained. The injuries only made him sexier. She wanted to kiss him all better. With tongue.
Dang. The future of her new good-girl status looked pretty bleak right about now.
He shoved someone else into the wall, a loud thud echoing, and she sighed dreamily.
Harlow gasped with concern. “Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. This sport is brutal. It’s making my stomach churn.”
“Churn with happiness, right?” Brutal equaled awesome.
“Would I need a vomit bag for happiness?”
“Not likely.”
“Then no, not happiness. Beck has such a violent past. I’m nervous this kind of aggression will lead to flashbacks and nightmares.”
Jessie Kay knew the guy had grown up in foster care, same as West and Jase, and that not all the homes had been safe havens. “Beck doesn’t look traumatized out there, honey. He looks as thrilled as a bull with teats.”
Harlow rolled her eyes. “A bull would not be thrilled with teats.”
“How do you know? A guy with boobs would be over the moon. Anyway. You mentioned Beck’s past. What do you know about West’s?” Subtle, Jessie Kay, subtle.
“About as much as you do, I’m thinking. Which means not a whole lot.”
Well, crap.
Her phone buzzed, and she checked the screen. Sunny Effing Day.
Got a line on party of the century 2nite. U in??
She didn’t have to think about her response.
No thanks, but tell me all about it in the morning :-) :-)
Sunny: Girl, U know there’s a big chance I won’t even remember the deets, right??
Yeah. And that was one of the bigger problems for Jessie Kay. She hated remembering the things she’d done, but she hated not remembering the things she’d done even more.
“So, uh, what do you think of him?” she asked Harlow. “West, I mean.”
Harlow’s gaze sharpened on her. “Well, he’s certainly a charming devil, isn’t he? Why?”
She ignored the question, saying, “Of course you’d think he’s charming. He’s nice to you.”
“He is, which is probably why I think he’s smart, driven and witty. And handsome. And strong. I love his dedication to Beck and Jase.”
“But?”
“But...sometimes he can stand in a full beam of light and I still think he’s surrounded by darkness.”
Yes! That! “I thought I was the only one who’d noticed.” She’d often wondered if something bad had happened to him as a kid. Something more than the bits and pieces she’d gleaned over the months. Orphaned at a young age. The death of a girlfriend. A lost scholarship. “I bet this kind of aggression is cathartic for him. And Beck. Because this conversation does not revolve around West. I bet brutal field play would be cathartic for me. Hey! Maybe we should start a team of our own.”
“No way, no how.”
Excitement filled her, and she clapped her hands. “We’ll call ourselves Victorious Secret and our motto will be ‘We Live to Spank You.’ Duuude. Yes! I’m basically the smartest person in the world. Ever. You in? Of course you’re in. Practice begins tomorrow.”
“I’m out.” Harlow shuddered with horror. “I have zero desire to be tossed around like some kind of meat bag just because I have possession of a ball anyone can buy at any sporting-goods store for less than twenty dollars.”
“Puss! You were the town bully for years. Where is your predator spirit?”
“In my pants,” she deadpanned, “where Beck likes to visit.”
Yeah. Okay. The fact that Jessie Kay hadn’t gotten any since the Jase/Beck debacle could maybe possibly definitely for sure begin to explain her desire to attack strangers and bask in their misery, perhaps even dance in their blood. That and the fear that she not only sucked as a person, she sucked as a lover. Why else would so many guys ditch her so fast?
Throughout her life, she’d had too many hookups and too few relationships, nothing ever lasting more than a few weeks. And more often than not—or, you know, every time—it had been the guy who’d left her, not the other way around.
Why was she such a failure? What made her so unworthy of more?
Her winning personality should only ever seal a deal.
Like Daniel said, he’d had the time of his life during their dates, laughing with her—not at her—until he pulled a muscle. And yet, he’d still let her go. And after him, she’d gone out with Dorian Oliver, a childhood friend of Beck’s who lost his wife to cancer years before. He hoped to find love again, and honestly, he’d seemed really into her, always making excuses to get his hands on her.
You cold?
But after only three dates, all of which had ended with a passionate kiss at her door, he’d pulled the plug.
A good thing, actually.
According to Momma, a girl shouldn’t give her pearls to pigs. Dorian was as far from pig-like as possible—a sweetheart who treated her with nothing but respect and kindness—but the message fit all the same. If she didn’t have a future with a guy, why waste her precious time? Especially considering she’d wasted so much already.
She was twenty-seven years old and the dreaded thirty was creeping up on her like an insidious disease. Or the worst thing on the planet—a spider. Did she have a single prospect? No! Because the only guy capable of eliciting a lasting response in her was a bastard of the highest order some days, most days, and a charmer without equal the others. Again, a charmer to everyone but her for reasons he’d never had the courtesy to share with her. Not that it mattered...even though he could melt her panties with only a glance.
The next piece of beefcake she welcomed into her bed would like the crap out of her, figuratively speaking, and that was that.
You outshine the sun, Anna Grace. There’s nothing about you I would change.
Her father’s words to her mother only solidified her vow. Jessie Kay’s next man wouldn’t set a timer on their relationship, like some people she knew. He would fight tooth and nail to stay with her, no matter what.
Basically, the relationship equivalent of West and his soccer ball.
Her phone buzzed again, and when she checked the screen, a smile bloomed. Since her run-in with Daniel earlier in the week, they’d stayed in constant contact.
Daniel: Come over tonight. We’ll eat SpaghettiOs, my fave. Just for the privilege of your company, I’m willing to watch The Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother or New Girl
Her: You know what would be cool??? If those 3 shows were combined. How I Banged the New Girl Before I Met Your Mother :-) :-) :-)
Daniel: OK. You owe me a new phone. I just spit coffee all over this one
Her: Consider it the price you pay for being friends w/such a “sass mouth” (as Mom used to say) and too bad for you, I’m hanging w/ my girls 2night
Daniel: Pencil me in soon. Pleeease (look at me, willing to beg)
Her: We’ll see!
Daniel: Since I’m not getting sex from you, I’m only in this friendship for the fun, remember?
Her: Fine. I’ll consider giving you a few minutes of JK time tomorrow—but I’ll hear your thanks NOW
Daniel: Someone needs to spank your ass...but thank you
She so did not want to be buoyed by his eagerness to spend time with her, but dang it, she was. Maybe she should try dating him again—
No. No! No second chances in the romance department. Ever.
Build a house on sand, and the first storm that comes along will topple it. Build on a firm foundation, and the house will withstand anything.
She would give anything for just one more conversation with her mom. Just one more hug.
The crowd erupted into bloodthirsty cheers, jolting her from her thoughts, and she glanced up in time to watch another member of Ball Busters hit the wall, impact so strong it even shook the bleachers. As the guy slipped to the floor, he left a smear of crimson behind. Through it, Jessie Kay met West’s stare.
She saw hunger...such gnawing hunger...
He gave her a look so raw and carnal, she felt stripped of every piece of clothing in less than a second. That look said he couldn’t go a minute more without having her in his bed. That he would suffocate without her. That she’d become the center of his world—his gravity.
It was a lie. A nasty, nasty lie.
Or she was only seeing what she wanted to see. A problem of hers.
Even still, goose bumps broke out over her skin and fire blazed in her veins. Savage, sexy beast. Gimme.
Before she did something stupid—like throw what was left of her panties at him—she buffed her nails.
“Hey, Jessie Kay, Harlow. I finally made it.”
She turned to see Brook Lynn climbing the bleachers and sighed with relief. Her sister had always been her saving grace.
The blonde, blue-eyed beauty had rescued Jessie Kay from certain disaster so many times over the years, she’d earned a JK life-preserver badge. If the little darling hadn’t become the mother they’d lost, despite being two years younger, Jessie Kay would have ended up on the streets...and oh, crap. Guilt gnawed on her soul. Guilt like she hadn’t felt in years—because she hadn’t let herself feel it, numbed by keggers and “romance.”
She was the worst sister ever. She’d destroyed Brook Lynn’s entire world. She was the worst daughter ever. She’d escorted her mother to death’s door, rung the bell and ran away. She’d insulted her father hours before he died and, and, and—
She focused on that, the least horrendous of her crimes, hoping to stop the panic attack in its tracks. And for a moment it worked, the arena disappearing, replaced by the kitchen walls of her childhood home—the home she still lived in—morning sunlight shining through the large bay window.
“Go change out of those shorts and into something appropriate,” her father demanded.
“But Daddy—”
“You’re still a child, Jessie Kay. My baby girl. You shouldn’t wear skintight pants with the word naughty scripted over your backside.”
“I’m not a child! I’m—”
“No argument. Just action.”
She stomped her foot. “Sunny has a pair just like them, and her dad thinks they’re cool.”
“He isn’t your dad. Go change.”
“Well, I wish he was my dad!” she shouted. “I like him better.”
She raced to her room, and a short while later Daddy left for work...but he’d never come home.
A manager at Dairyland, he’d been speaking to one of his engineers about a broken machine. A machine that exploded, killing them along with half the workforce.
He’d died thinking she wanted a different father.
“Hey, hey. You okay?” Soft hands cupped her cheeks.
Jessie Kay blinked and found her sister sitting beside her, familiar features darkened with concern. “I’m fine.” She gave her sister a big ol’ bear hug, and she probably held on far too long, probably clung far too tight, but dang it, she loved the girl. “Just thinking about Daddy,” she said when she pulled away, careful to articulate her words.
Brook Lynn was born with a severe case of hyperacusis—a condition that caused her to hear even the quietest everyday noises at a screaming volume—forcing her to wear bulky devices in both ears to muffle and even mute sounds.
“We’ve talked about this.” Brook Lynn gave her cheeks a firm pat. “Do I really need to give you another lecture?”
Parents and children fight. That’s part of life. You and Dad exchanged heated words, get over it. You both walked away knowing you were loved.
Brook Lynn hadn’t witnessed the fight, and Jessie Kay hadn’t wanted to spill the details, but she’d done it anyway. Panic attacks had been a way of life for her back then, and her sister deserved to know one of the many reasons why.
“No. I remember the last twenty thousand.”
“Good.” Brook Lynn nodded. “Now tell me what I missed game-wise.”
The soccer game. A life raft. “West has tried to murder everyone on the field, and Jase has guarded the goal as if it’s your virtue.
“In other words,” Brook Lynn said with a grin, “we’re winning.”
Exactly. “So how’d the fitting go?”
“You mean the modern-day torture session I willingly signed up for? Well, if you ever decide you’d like to acquire a few body-image issues, just gain a few pounds before trying to zip your wedding gown and watch the seamstress’s horrified expression in the mirror.”
No one insults my sis—but me. “So you’ve gained a few pounds. So what? You’ve done Jase a favor. You’ve given him more of you to love.”